Joy, Relief, Lust, Gratitude
by SubtlePen
Summary: SLASH BACKSLASH 2.0 entry!  Could there be any greater happiness than looking in someone's eyes and  knowing  they were meant for you?  A twenty-drabble story of loneliness and love at first sight.


**SLASH BACKSLASH ONE-SHOT CONTEST**

**Story Name: Joy, Relief, Lust, Gratitude  
Pen name: SubtlePen  
Pairing: Carlisle/Edward  
Disclaimer: **_I do not own the Twilight series, nor any of the characters created by Stephenie Meyer. I do not make any money from the writing of this story._**  
To see other entries in the "SLASH BACKSLASH" contest, please visit the C2: ****www (dot) fanfiction (dot) net/c2/68069/3/0/1/**

**

* * *

**this is a story told in twenty drabbles. each drabble is exactly 100 words long (as calculated by MSWord) and is inspired by a one-word prompt, in bold. my endless thanks go to miztrezboo for the prompts and her constant encouragement.  
**

* * *

  
**

**Silent**

I noted the time of death. One of the nurses started switching off monitors, and the various beeps and hums stopped.

I made some notes in her chart, and steeled myself for the task to come.

He wailed, pleading and raging, demanding explanations, insisting there must be some mistake. His _wife!_ She was his partner, future, best friend, lover, everything – suddenly _gone_.

He grieved the loss of something I'd never found, and I couldn't summon adequate words to console him. Some sick twisted part of me envied him; that he'd at least known that bond, when I'd been alone… forever.

.

.

.

**Pressure**

I slammed the locker closed and rested my head on the cool metal, then felt a familiar hand traverse my shoulders.

"You lose that MVA?"

I nodded.

"Hey," he said, rhythmically squeezing my neck, "my GSW pulled through." I turned and smiled, glad to know his shift had ended better than mine. His fingers threaded through my hair, and I stilled.

"Want to… come over?"

I looked away briefly, contemplating saying yes, then back to his ice-blue eyes. "Not tonight, Marcus." He was eager for more than something casual between us, and I didn't want to give him false hope.

.

.

.

**Stale**

I threw my coat on over my scrubs and left the ER behind, stepping away from the smells of blood and disinfectant, the sounds of pain and illness, out into the crisp night air.

Walking darkened streets to the smoky pub, I almost regretted turning Marcus down. We'd hooked up a few times, and it was pleasant enough. He was an attentive, reasonably skilled lover, but nothing more. I wanted something else, something he didn't have. I craved warmth, a spark, something more lasting than just physical release. He'd become clingy and, whatever it was, I hadn't found with him.

.

.

.

**Numb**

I shrugged off my coat and took a seat at the bar, far away from everyone else.

"Hey, Cee. Long time. Usual?" I nodded, surprised that he'd remembered me. "Thanks, Jay." He pulled a perfect pint of stout and slid it in front of me with a wary look.

"You don't look so good."

I slowly nodded. I probably looked like shit. "Long day."

I tried to think of nothing more than the beer's flavor and coolness, and the welcome buzz I knew would follow. The sounds of the other patrons faded into the background. I'd never felt so alone.

.

.

.

**Rude**

I ordered another pint and closed my tab.

"You don't come here often." I heard a velvety voice behind me.

"You must."

"Charming," he muttered.

"Look, I'm not really here to pick up…"

"I've seen you here before, but it's been a while. That's all I meant. No need to be a prick about it." He started to walk away, but I grabbed his arm. Flinching, he pulled back. "Hey!"

I snatched my hand back and rubbed my palm, inexplicably nervous as I looked in his eyes; rich green, even in the low light.

"I'm sorry," I said. "No offense."

.

.

.

**Meander**

I pointed toward an empty barstool, but he hesitated. "Northwestern?" He gestured at the logo on my scrubs. I nodded, looking for one on his. "Prentice Women's," he offered, holding out his hand. "Edward Masen, obstetrics."

"Carlisle Cullen, emergency medicine." I shook his hand and smiled weakly. "Rough night. Sorry to take it out on you."

"No problem. At least most of my days end with healthy babies."

Our easy conversation covered jobs, education, home towns, families. I knew he was gay; he made his attraction to me no secret. I had to admit, I was flattered.

He was beautiful.

.

.

.

**Yearn**

"It sounds like you need someone to help you work out your frustrations." He sipped his scotch, grinning up at me over the rim.

I smiled, enjoying the playful turn our conversation had taken. "I've yet to meet the man that could keep up for very long," I whispered.

"You definitely need an outlet, Carlisle. Do you have any hobbies?

"I like to read…"

"Medical journals don't count."

I laughed. "What about you?"

"I play piano."

I looked at his hands, taking one in mine, admiring it. Rubbing my thumb over his palm, I said "I'd like to see that."

.

.

.

**Link**

I toyed with his fingers as we talked, absently tracing crescent moons, veins and tendons, pressing my palm to his. He would pull back to fiddle with his hair, or his glass, but then let me pick up where I left off. He looked down and smiled at our hands, becoming well acquainted, testing the shapes they made, twisting together. My face flushed, caught playing handsies like an adolescent girl, but the look on his face reassured me. It seemed like his lopsided smile was a gift, all mine.

I caught Jay watching us, wearing a smile of his own.

.

.

.

**Quick**

"I lost a patient tonight," I blurted, filling a lull. "Something about it, I can't shake it off."

He stared at the floor, obviously knowing too well how I felt. "It never gets easy."

I nodded.

"You did all you could?"

I nodded.

He stood and drew me close, and I enjoyed his careful embrace.

"It's okay to feel something when you lose one. It keeps us human," he whispered.

I balled my fists against the onslaught of emotion, but his arms tightened around me.

"Let go," he said, and I felt his lips against my neck. "I've got you."

.

.

.

**Illicit**

I sagged into his arms, overcome by his sincerity, hoping that this was something beyond a casual offer of intimate comfort.

His fingers combed through my hair, and his lips sought mine. I responded, opening to his kiss, drowning in adrenalin, but I was somehow disappointed. I pulled back.

"I don't do…" I muttered, struggling for words that weren't insulting.

"Random hookups in bars?"

I nodded, putting space between us.

"Is that what this feels like, to you?"

I felt vulnerable, but looked him in the eye. "I don't want that to be all you are."

He smiled. "Me neither."

.

.

.

**High**

He kissed me again, hard and hungry. "I don't think I'd be happy with just one night, or a week or a month."

I was intoxicated by the thought of him in my bed, every night, thoroughly fucked and sleepy. I allowed myself to expand the fantasy, with lazy mornings sharing coffee, and evidence of his presence scattered about my home – laundry, toothbrush, books. I imagined companionship, passion, permanence. I pulled him closer, absorbing how he fit against me, the smell of his skin, picturing my life finally intertwined with someone that wanted the same.

Edward made it feel possible.

.

.

.

**Cusp**

I felt my face heat, and turned away from the bar patrons who'd taken an interest in our impromptu make-out. I drained the last of my beer, sliding the empty back to Jay. Edward finished his scotch, looking at me hesitantly.

"What now?" He paid his tab and turned to me with an odd look on his face. "Trade numbers, meet for coffee?"

"Come home with me."

He was silent a moment. "I thought that wasn't where you wanted this to go?"

"It's not how I want this to end, but I think it's where I'd like it to start."

.

.

.

**Rough**

I shoved the door closed behind him and pressed him against it. We clumsily shed our clothing, kissing frantically, murmuring encouragement and praise.

His stubbled jaw rasped against mine, and I tilted my head for more, my entire body aching for touch and attention.

I gasped when he took me in hand. "I want… oooh…"

"Take what you need, Carlisle. Anything. Please."

I pulled his legs up around my hips and carried him to my bed, where we fell as a tangle of limbs, mouths and eager hands. There would be time enough later for delicate tenderness and slow seduction.

.

.

.

**Chase**

I held his intense gaze as I plunged into him, pouring fuel on the spark that ignited just hours earlier. Energy raced through every nerve as I learned his sounds, and absorbed his heat. He spoke to me, softly, urging me on, accepting me, giving me everything.

As our bodies rolled and grappled, we left no room between us for what-ifs and morning-after fears. There were no other lovers, no broken hearts or missed chances. Our union drove those things away, leaving only him and I, forging a pathway forward, fostering what would hopefully endure beyond our sprint toward ecstasy.

.

.

.

**Wave**

The ever-tightening coil snapped, and warm undulations of pleasure coursed through me. I watched as ribbons of white marked his skin, signaling that he'd also found release, leaving us dazed and gasping for breath.

I collapsed at his side, watching his chest rise and fall. My hand sought his face, and he turned to kiss my palm and hold it there. His fingers traced meaningless patterns on my shoulder, a sweet gesture, familiar and affectionate.

We kissed, deep and slow, savoring one another. I wanted to speak, to say something eloquent and unifying, but his kisses swept my words away.

.

.

.

**Essence**

Warm, cascading water cleansed our bodies, flushing away scents and residues, burdens and weariness.

His fingertips, then his lips, found a silvery scar on my brow.

"How?"

"Coffee table. I was twelve."

"Did you cry?"

I nodded, unashamed.

He found several more, and I shared stories of the marks that life had left on my body.

Learning each other in this way, stripped of pretense and distraction, was more intimate than anything I'd ever shared with a lover. I wanted him to know me, and I wanted to know him, inside and out, wounds and secrets, more than anyone before.

.

.

.

**Melt**

We tucked into my bed, gravitating into a languorous embrace. We came together again, slow mouths and tender hands, and held each other afterwards, kissing and talking quietly about the rarity of what we felt, the effortlessness.

I fought sleep, relishing the scent of his skin, the planes and curves of his body. With every breath, I sank deeper into his arms, comforted, bolstered, cradled like something fragile and precious. The hours we'd known one another felt like years, and I closed my eyes imagining many more to come, lulled by the gentle cadence of his heartbeat beneath my palm.

.

.

.

**Present**

"I have to go, babe."

I kissed him, nodding. I had to work soon, too. "When is your shift over?"

"Eight-ish."

"Dinner? I'll cook."

He smiled, bright and happy. "I'll bring some wine."

We took a few final, quiet moments to kiss and touch before the pull of the outside world claimed us. He left my bed, his fingers touching mine until the distance became too great. I watched him dress, loving the way he moved around my home, comfortable.

"I wish I'd found you years ago."

He stood at my side, touching my face. "Doesn't matter. I'm here now."

.

.

.

**Hollow**

The front door echoed heavily when Edward left. I stood there, looking around, feeling a little lost in his absence. I shook it off and got ready for work, falling into my usual pattern. Coffee, shower, dress, breakfast, tidy up. I left the bedroom for last.

I stood in the doorway, looking at the rumpled sheets and smelling his lingering scent, and I felt warm all over, from the inside out.

Solid. Grounded. Hopeful.

Things I hadn't felt… in years.

That empty, yearning place within me - the one that craved companionship, passion and permanence - had begun to fill.

.

.

.

**Embrace**

The expression on his face when I answered the door matched my own: joy, relief, lust, gratitude. Could there be any greater happiness than looking in someone's eyes and _knowing_ they were meant for you?

We ate, shared some wine, talked about our worlds and things that buoyed us through the years before we met.

We fell into my bed, still talking, still learning. We loved, sweet and easy, and again, hard and hungry, making up for lost time. Hours later, we succumbed to exhaustion in each other's arms.

His final words mirrored my own thoughts.

_Never let me go._

_._

_._

_.  
_

_

* * *

_

thank you again, my dear MiztrezBoo... MWAH.

**please check out the other stories in the contest, lovingly created for your enjoyment, and reward your favorites with a vote.**


End file.
